


Down, Boy

by keeves



Category: Guardians of the Galaxy (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Thor (Movies)
Genre: Anal Sex, Biting, Blow Jobs, Dirty Talk, Dom/sub Undertones, Groping, Hair-pulling, Kissing, M/M, Oral Sex, Post-Avengers: Endgame (Movie), Rough Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-09
Updated: 2019-05-09
Packaged: 2020-02-29 03:13:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,160
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18770053
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/keeves/pseuds/keeves
Summary: Quill doesn't remember what the bet between he and Thor had been on. He just remembers that he won it.





	Down, Boy

**Author's Note:**

> sequel to my last thorquill fic, Next Time, but this can be read on its own. read both for the full experience tho !!

“You better be careful,” Thor warns. “If you pull anything, I’ll hit you with Stormbreaker.”

“Jeez, okay!” Quill says, throwing his hands up. “It’s not like I’ve never done this before, calm down.”

“Well, you’ve never done it on _me_.” Thor gives him a hard stare from his seat on the crate he had dragged into the _Benatar_ ’s bathroom. Quill kind of likes how distinct the height difference is, even though Thor barely has one inch on him when they stand back-to-back. It’s like standing one stair above someone. There’s definitely a sense of power that comes with looking down at somebody like Thor. It renders his scowl almost cute. Almost!

Quill puts one hand on the top of Thor’s head while he leans across to the countertop to pick up his trimmer. Thor grunts in protest, but doesn’t move away. “Alright,” Quill says, taking a step back and putting his chin in his hand, pretending to think hard. “So, you want to be completely bald?”

Thor has Quill’s wrists in an iron grip in an instant. “On Odin’s grave, Quill, if you make me bald I will—”

Quill laughs, unperturbed. “I’m kidding, man! You think I don’t know the risks I’m running here?”

After a brief moment of consideration and a resigned growl, Thor lets go of Quill’s wrists and turns back towards the mirror, the corners of his mouth turned down. Quill lets out another huff of laughter before flicking his trimmer on.

Thor visibly flinches at the hum of the trimmer. Quill knows that he really does have to err on the side of caution here. He knows from stories and experience alike how protective Thor is of his hair. He knows from passing comments that Thor’s mother taught him a countless number of different braids and that he used to twist a lock of his brother’s hair into his own. He has heard of Thor’s tales of Sakaar and how his long hair was shaved off while he was chained to a chair, and that Loki had met a sudden and unexpected death at the hands of Thanos before Thor was able to collect something to remember him by (as much as he and Quill like riling each other up, Quill never goes there. That’s just uncool). He tells most of his stories in jest, but Quill can tell how much his experiences still trouble him. He’s not very good at hiding it. When he had indefinitely joined up with the Guardians, both his hair and his beard reached his collarbone. He made quick work of his beard, but he kept the hair. Until he had an alcohol-fueled emotional breakdown and shaved it all off, anyway. That had certainly been a scene.

“Hold still,” Quill says, like Thor isn’t going to be playing statues throughout this entire experience. He doesn’t answer, but Quill can see him clenching and unclenching his jaw in an effort to keep himself together. Quill refuses to acknowledge the bloom of warmth in his chest as he considers the fact that Thor trusts him enough to let him even come near his hair (they’ve been messing around for like, a month now, and Quill is pretty sure that makes them buddies to some extent, and with being buddies comes with a certain level of trust). Maybe he acknowledges it a little bit, because it feels pretty nice.

He starts on Thor’s sideburns, careful not to get his beard in the mix. Luckily, Thor is better about trimming his beard than his hair. Quill had thought that he might even be trying to grow it out again, which may have been the case until they made a drunken bet on something neither of them remember. He’s not about to fuck up Thor’s hair on purpose, though. He’s not a monster.

Quill makes his way around the Thor’s head, feeling confident in the fact that he is doing his best, and that his best is pretty damn good. He does what he usually does to himself, just a little shorter. Thor’s hair is straighter and easier to work with anyway, so Quill doesn’t find himself having too tough a time. He glances at Thor’s reflection once or twice as he works, finding Thor with his eyes closed and his face solemn each time. His near-grimace does nothing but motivate Quill to do an even better job than he had initially thought possible. When he steps back again, this time to admire his work, he feels a little swell of pride. Because it’s good. Of course it’s good, but this is like, _good_ good.

“Are you done?” Thor asks. He speaks bluntly.

Quill is struck with a sudden inspiration. “Not yet,” he says, stepping around Thor and setting the trimmer aside before digging through one of the several (extremely cluttered) bathroom drawers in search of a little pot of styling cream he had picked up along the way from wherever to here. It’s half used and he can’t remember the last time he opened it, and it doesn’t look like it’s gone bad or anything. Not that he would be able to tell. But Thor’s a literal god so Quill says fuck it and scoops a blob out with his finger and rubs his hands together before coming to stand behind Thor again.

“What are you—” is all Thor can manage before Quill starts running his hands from the front of Thor’s hair and back so it sticks up a little. With the help of the cream, it’ll stay like that for a while. Won’t look so flat on the top of Thor’s head.

“I’m styling, calm down,” Quill says, continuing. He sees that Thor’s eyes are open now, but he’s looking down like he’s afraid to see what Quill has done to him. His face is still as stormy as ever. “Dude, are you _pouting_?”

“No!” Thor says, finally turning to look over his shoulder at Quill. He glaring now, but suddenly all Quill can think about is how much of a damn good job he did. “What?” Thor says, his glare fading fast. “What are you smiling about?”

“Nothing. Just that I did a damn good job.” He puts his hands on his hips, self-satisfied.

Thor finally looks at himself in the mirror. Quill sees his eyebrows raise marginally, the hard lines on his forehead smoothing out, and that feeling of pride grows. “Not so bad, huh?” He says as Thor turns his head side to side, one hand coming up to feel the back of his neck. That where it had been the worst. It was starting to turn into a mullet, which Quill had learned was no longer a cool look the hard way a long time ago.

“Well…” Thor pauses for several seconds. “You did a better job than that maniac with a lawnmower.”

Quill can’t help but grin. That’s about as much out of Thor he thinks he’s gonna get, but it’s enough. “You owe me, man. I could have fucked you up bad.” He gives the back of Thor’s head a nudge. Thor frowns at him again, but Quill can see the relief and satisfaction in his mismatched eyes.

When Thor looks back into the mirror again, he lets out a long sigh. “Thank you, Quill.” He says.

“Aw hell,” Quill says. “It’s nothing.”

But then he is stuck with an incredible idea. Holy shit. He is a genius.

“I’m a genius.” He blurts. “I’m so smart. I just got an idea. Dude, can I try something?”

He sees Thor stiffen again. “… What?”

“What if,” Quill says, “And hear me out. What if I gave you like, a lightning bolt. Right here.” He traces a line on the side of Thor’s head, above his left ear. “Just like, you know.” He makes a whooshing sound as he traces it again, this time more in the shape he is imagining. He puts his hands on Thor’s shoulders and looks at his reflection expectantly. Thor lets out a long-suffering sigh before answering.

“Fine.”

“ _Fuck_ yes!” Quill pumps his fist. He grabs up the clippers again and turns them on, not missing that Thor doesn’t flinch this time. He bends over so that his face is level with Thor’s head and carefully— _really_ carefully—shaves a lightning bolt into the side of his head. When he’s done, he leans back. He was right. It looks fucking sick. “I’m literally a genius. You have never looked cooler.”

Thor turns his head to see what Quill has done. He pinches his lips together, then says, “Yeah, okay. It looks pretty cool.” He even smiles a little. Quill kind of wants to grab him and kiss him. Is that cool? Can he do that? For the second time in the last hour, Quill says fuck it and wraps his arms around Thor’s neck, kissing him hard on the temple. Surprised, Thor yelps, turning to look at him when Quill pulls back. Quill can’t stop fucking smiling. Then things get even better when Thor grabs Quill’s face and yanks him back down, kissing him on the mouth. Quill moans, slowly starting to drop down to the bathroom floor, his tongue trailing from Thor’s mouth and down his throat, where there are purple marks from their last tryst. Quill gets his hands up under Thor’s shirt, feeling out his hard, flat stomach and sliding his hands further over his pecs. He’s almost back to his original angel-pirate glory.

“Fuck,” Thor says, resting one hand on top of Quill’s head as he pushes Thor’s shirt up all the way so that he can bite his nipples. Thor’s knees press against Quill’s hips, holding him in place. “Fuck,” He says again. He’s a little bit of a talker; Quill has noticed.

Quill palms Thor’s dick through his pants, checking if he is sufficiently riled up. He is, so Quill gets to work unbuckling his belt and shoving his hand in Thor’s underwear, pulling his dick out and giving it a few pumps before leaning down and wrapping his lips around the tip. Thor groans, his hand curling into a fist, tugging on Quill’s hair. Quill would never admit it, but he kind of likes it.

Quill admittedly doesn’t have a ton of blowjob experience—giving them, anyway. He’s going to try his best here, because Thor is admittedly really damn good at giving blowjobs, and Quill isn’t gonna quit until he gets to that level _at least_. He wraps his hand around the base of Thor’s dick and sucks on the head, running his tongue along the underside before taking Thor deeper. Above him, Thor groans and pants and swears with a mix of both Earth and Asgardian curses, his hand still fisted in Quill’s hair. It’s nice. Motivates Quill to take more until he chokes, pulling back to catch his breath before diving back down, bobbing his head and forgoing the help of his hand. He doesn’t need that shit anymore. Training wheels. Instead, he grabs Thor high up on his thighs for leverage as he gives what is definitely his best blowjob yet, confirmed by the nonsense spilling from Thor’s mouth. That’s how Quill knows he’s got him where he wants him. He pulls off and smiles as Thor lets out a broken, frustrated groan, letting go of Quill’s hair and dragging his hand down his face. “You’re getting good at that,” he manages.

“I know,” Quill says, getting to his feet. He grabs Thor’s wrist on the way up, pulling him to his feet as well and kissing him again, more teeth this time. Thor tries to take control, shoving his tongue into Quill’s mouth and grabbing him by the belt, pulling their hips together and grinding his dick on Quill’s waist. Thor bites him hard on the lip and Quill grunts, pulling back. “Down, boy,” he says.

He means it as a joke, but Thor clearly doesn’t take it that way. He lets out a sort of wheezing sound and sticks his nose in the crook of Quill’s neck, his grip on Quill’s waist tightening. “Oh man.” Quill almost laughs as it dawns on him. “You like that, don’t you? Hey.” He pulls Thor’s head up by his freshly cut hair to look at his face, but Thor won’t meet his gaze. He takes Thor’s chin in his hand, holding him still. “Hey,” he repeats. “Remember when we fucked on Contraxia and you said I could top next time?” Thor looks him in the eyes, remembering. “I’m starting to think that right now is next time.”

Thor lets out a long, wanton keening sound that Quill has never heard him make before. Naturally, he is thrilled. Before he backs Thor up against the bathroom counter, he tries to send a mental warning to the rest of the Guardians not to come in here. It’s not that they won’t hear Thor anyway, it’s just—yeah, it’s just Drax’s lack of respect for privacy that he’s really worried about. He doesn’t let that deter him though, sinking his teeth into Thor’s neck a little harder than usual, reaching down and unbuckling his pants. He’s gonna fuck Thor right here on this countertop. Hell yeah.

Quill knows that Thor won’t beg (not yet, anyway), so he takes charge and flips him around, grinding against him before pulling Thor’s pants down below his ass. He opens the drawer by Thor’s hip and rummages around in it until he finds one of the many packets of lube he keeps hidden around the _Benatar_. He tears it open and slicks up his fingers, back in mostly familiar territory. He bunches Thor’s shirt up in one hand and traces the indent of his spine down to the cleft of his ass with the other, dipping one finger in just enough to make Thor gasp, leaning his weight on the counter, his eyes screwed shut. Quill can tell that he’s not used to this, his knuckles going white as Quill starts moving his finger in and out. Once Thor is panting again, his head dropping, Quill pushes in a second finger.

“Quill,” Thor whimpers. Quill has never felt better about himself.

He opens Thor up best he can—he’s a little out of practice. He adds a third finger, stretching Thor’s hole almost purely for the satisfaction of Thor’s “Oh, fuck, Quill…” He reaches around to pinch at one of Thor’s nipples, watching him as he starts to shake, thrusting one hand out to brace himself against the wall, narrowly missing the mirror. Quill wonders briefly if smashing the mirror would be a mood-killer. He thinks maybe, but maybe not.

“Quill,” Thor growls. “ _Quill_.”

Quill speaks without thinking. “What, puppy?” He’s embarrassed for a second, but the noise Thor makes is worth it.

“ _Fuck_ me.”

“Maybe if you ask nicely,” Quill taunts, pushing his fingers deep. This is fun. He could get used to this.

Thor groans, tossing his head back. “ _Please_.”

Quill sighs. “If you insist!” He takes his fingers out of Thor’s ass and pulls out his dick, finding that packet again and squeezing the rest of it into his palm, hissing through his teeth when he wraps his hand around his dick. Fuck, he’s harder than he thought.

He lines up with Thor’s hole, not wasting any time starting to push in. Thor lets out a quiet “Ah, ah, ah,” going up on his toes a little, then shuffling his feet farther apart, spreading his legs.

“You’re way more into this— _shit_ —than I thought you’d be,” Quill pants as he bottoms out, pressing his chest to Thor’s back. Both of their shirts are sticky with sweat. Thor doesn’t offer a response besides struggling to catch his breath. Quill gives him a second before moving, relishing in the cry that comes from Thor’s throat.

Quill grabs him by the hips, starting to establish a rhythm as he fucks into Thor. It feels better than he thought possible. As much as he wants to keep talking, keep calling Thor a puppy and asking him exactly how much he likes this, and that maybe they should have been doing it this way since the beginning, Quill crosses the threshold of being able to form sentences. Not that Quill doesn’t like Thor fucking him, just that Thor seems to like being fucked better than he likes fucking. Quill thrusts deep and slow at first, liking the way Thor goes up on his toes each time Quill pushes all the way in. He continues like this until Thor says, “ _More_.”

Quill doesn’t need anything else. He adjusts his grip around Thor’s waist, standing up straight so he can fuck Thor harder and faster than before. He catches their reflection in the mirror and nearly comes right there. They look like a fucking porno; Thor with his sweaty red face and open mouth, Quill just looking like a certified pro. He curses and does everything he can to fuck Thor even harder. Thor loses his balance, falling forward on the corner of the counter, wheezing as the wind is knocked out of him, but Quill doesn’t stop. He’s so good at this. Goddamn, he’s so good at this.

Thor clenches around Quill as he comes on the front of the cabinet, practically screaming Quill’s name. Quill manages a “Yeah, yeah, yeah,” before coming himself, gasping and leaning forward against Thor’s back again. “Oh, fuck,” he pants. “Oh man, fuck.”

Thor starts going boneless immediately, slumping against the countertop. Quill grabs him under the arms, trying to steady both him and himself. “Woah there,” he says. Thor presses his palms against the countertop, regaining his balance. “You good?” Quill asks. He lets go of Thor when he nods, lifting one hand to give an unsteady thumbs-up. Quill laughs breathlessly, pulling out and fixing Thor’s pants, reaching around his waist to tuck him back in and buckle his belt like the considerate top he is. He then holds Thor, resting his head against the back of his shoulder, sighing contentedly. He wants to take a fucking nap.

After a moment, Thor turns around in his arms, looking Quill in the face. He’s still breathing hard. He pushes the sweat-slicked hair off of Quill’s forehead before leaning in to kiss him, softly this time. “We should shower,” he says hoarsely.

“Gimme a second,” Quill says, leaning on Thor’s chest. “Gotta think about how good I am at fucking.”

Thor scoffs, but Quill hears the laugh hidden beneath it. “You keep telling yourself that.”

They stay like that, Thor’s hand on the back of Quill’s head and the other on his hip, Quill leaning his full weight on the length of Thor’s body until he feels sufficiently rested, for the time being. He stands up and fixes his pants, looking towards the bathroom door. “Thank God Drax didn’t come in,” he says.

Thor grins. “Yes. Thank God.”

**Author's Note:**

> hey follow me on twitter @keeves_ ! right now it's a twitter for my radio show mostly but that will be changing soon lol


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